a budding new romance

I've been busy for a while, and I fucked up my rhythm on here. Let me explain this in a 3-part essay on my current zesty armpit dance through life.

Part 1: One in a Million

Whew! That sure was exhausting. After 5 months of negotiating with lawyers, banks, title companies, and stubborn tenants, we’re finally in our new home. For years, we’d discussed changing neighborhoods to be closer to nightlife and more public transportation, but cheap rent and a platonic affection for our current ‘hood kept us in place despite our rabid, frothy hatred for the Muni bus lines that so often let us down. Until one afternoon while innocently perusing Craigslist, a deal of the century came along. So, finding ourselves in the exact right place at the exact right time, we bought it. It’s not huge, it’s not fancy and it’s not modern, but dammit it’s ours. And in San Francisco, that’s something to really, really feel lucky about.

Part 2: Just One of the Crowd

Unfortunately, filling a place that’s twice the size of my last domicile has required a few shopping trips to the much dreaded department store and even worse: IKEA. I am very anti-retail shopping, particularly for the IKEA lifestyle, but in order to actually unpack (and sleep well at night) I needed a few simple things in a jiffy, like a shelf, curtain rods, step ladder and pillows. Besides, I had a few hours to kill in the East Bay and a great mp3 player with headphones to block out the thousands of whiny children who apparently love to go comparison furniture shopping. As I approached the entrance to the store, I was swept into a sea of several dozen people, mostly whole families, and for a second, I thought I was going to something cool like a monster truck rally or crash-up derby. I can’t recall the last time I entered a store as part of a crowd. Perhaps shopping is entertainment for some people. I walked around the top floor, weaving my way through clusters of people and trying to glance at the kitchen and living room layouts, only to discover that I really don’t like IKEA. I hate the bold colors. I hate the overuse of silver. I hate the modern-faux-vintage-futuristic-sleek retro-ness of it all.

After spending a considerable amount of time figuring out how curtains and blinds work, my hangover kicked in. I needed to sit and get some fluids in me, so I headed to the snack bar that I would normally completely ignore. Apparently, this isn’t a snack bar, but a full cafeteria of deep fried hellishness. Plates of fried chicken with French fries and glowing macaroni and cheese surrounded me. The cutesy Swedish design (MADE IN CHINA) carries over to the menu where the signature item is Swedish meatballs (MADE IN BANGLEDESH). Very wise of you, IKEA, to capitalize on the uncontrollable gluttony of the American consumer. “What are we having for dinner tonight, dear? IKEA!” It is troublesome that somewhere, not far from here, that phrase has probably been uttered more than once. The menu also had other Swedish-inspired cuisine like 2 hot dogs, chips & soda for $2.50 and a 6-pack of Cinnabons for $4. I suddenly felt all too American. I took my soda over to the bench and glanced across the room looking at all the shoppers eating fattening meals inside a furniture store, and suddenly I felt like an alien. How did I get here? Why am I here?

Onward to the bottom half of the store, where I continued to feel overwhelmed, disinterested, and disgusted (MADE IN PAKISTAN). I took a breather and relaxed a bit in the backyard furniture display. I watched all the people pass, wearing those earpiece cell phones and talking out loud, hands-free with armfuls of products of questionable quality. Across from me was a display of bundles of sticks. You’re supposed to display your sticks in a vase. Within 10 minutes, four different people added the $15 sticks to their shopping carts. About 20 people an hour go home feeling trendy and stylish with the very same bundle of sticks that they could have gathered in their own backyards. By the end of the trip, I noticed that I was the only one wearing headphones while shopping. I think what bothered me the most about my shopping trip to IKEA was the deeper sense of joining the mindless and homogenous. Seeing stacks of framed prints go home with families who regard these prints as “art” was pathetic to me. Does this negative reaction sound too snobby, or is it that I am just completely divorced from the concept of retail shopping?

Part 3: One Week at a Time

Part of getting settled into a new home is making it feel like you. Making five rooms feel like five rooms that you want to spend your time in. It takes time to make square rooms with blank walls comfortable, functional and reflective of your personality. It takes time how to figure things out, even simple things like using tools. It’s been really frustrating not knowing how to fix things. These skills are usually developed over years of shadowing one’s father around the house. Developing handy skills is something that me and my father neglected for decades. Is it too late? Suddenly, I feel tossed into the role of landlord that I am not ready to assume. We searched online, unsuccessfully, for a cabinet to hold our printer and scanner after realizing that the shelf we bought at IKEA wasn’t ideal because it would function as a display of unwieldy tangled cords. After giving up, we took a walk in the neighborhood to pick up some groceries and passed by the perfect cabinet sitting on our block, for FREE. As we carried it home, we felt the wobbly construction and realized that it was time to break out that new power screwdriver and drill. This led to a two hour ordeal that yielded an equally wobbly cabinet with more scratches and silver screws glaring on its dark wood finish.

How does one become handy? Last week, we attempt the assembly of a liquor cabinet and that didn’t go so well. The wordless directions were confusing and the cabinet ended up a halted project half assembled in the corner of the living room for days, until some friends came over and saved us. How many times can we ask friends for help? Shouldn’t a grown woman be able to change a light bulb on her own?

Owning a place has made me more proactive. Back in the renting days, you pretty much learned to deal with more of the problems or you’d just bitch to you landlord if something wasn’t just right. But now, I feel an urgent compulsion to solve all of these little tasks at once, so I can feel settled. It’s been two weeks and while a lot of progress has been made, it’s still challenging to experience the seasons in a different way because of drafty (uh, drafty is a generous way to describe gaping holes) windows. And so, I’ve got a nonstop “to do” list and a membership at the local hardware store.

So that’s where I’m at. I’m adjusting to my new home. I find myself walking multiple laps around the circular layout of the house, searching for one thing or another. It generally takes me 5 to 10 laps to get out the door in the morning. I observed my neighbor as he fixed the leaking toilet, trying to absorb as much of his knowledge as I could. After he left, a new leak sprung and it’s remained that way ever since. Windows are delightful novelties. I used to live in a moldy, spider-filled cave. The darkness was good for hangovers but not for circadian rhythms. Now, I find myself staring outside at the birds and the neighbors’ yards and wondering what will happen to our overgrown ivy-filled yard once we have some free time to show it some love. Ahhhh, love.

I may have some frustrations, but all of this couldn’t overcome my love for this home. It’s a place that I know I will spend the rest of my life, and that’s a mighty long time. Speaking of long time, the house is 116 years old!

I love daydreaming about the families that lived here and all the action these walls have absorbed. It’s a piece of San Francisco’s rich history and a stunning survivor of some of the city’s worst times. It has all of the amenities and charm I need and the location is going to reduce my commute by more than half, saving my sanity just in the nick of time. Building a relationship with a new home is the inverse of a relationship with falling in love with another human, I guess you could say. With people, the initial days and weeks of a serious commitment are exciting and time whirls by with ease, filled to the brim with generosity and comfort and warmth. It’s breezy and giddy and exciting. In getting to know my new home, I have been rather surprised at the amount of time I feel overwhelmed, scared and frustrated, always figuring out how I can accelerate the process of fitting in and how I will convince it to be kind to me. But in the end, you end up in the same spot… You feel home.